


You Had One Job, Clarke.

by DistantStar



Series: Hello Clarke [3]
Category: clexa - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Clexa, Executive Lexa Woods, F/F, Fluff, More tags to be added as we go, Rated M for langauge, Rating will go up as fic is updated, Reincarnation, Street Painter!Clarke, hello Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 08:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10963356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStar/pseuds/DistantStar
Summary: Clarke wasn't expecting to be stunned speechless when a beautiful stranger got out of a car.  She wasn't expecting to drop her tools all over the place.  She wasn't expecting the stranger to know her name and she was definitely not expecting for the cause of all this disaster that took over her life in the past three seconds to look up at her with pretty green eyes and change everything just by calling her one little word no one ever used anymore ...Sunshine.





	You Had One Job, Clarke.

**Author's Note:**

> (a/n: please check out my Tumblr for **more** of my writing.)  
>  adistantstarblog.tumblr.com

Okay, Clarke thought, pulling into the crowded parking lot. She had arrived at the right address and fortunately for her, this time, she was on the right street. She checked to be sure. Yes, she was at 307 Polis Street. And yes, if was definitely an office building of a hugely wealthy executive called ..someone... Woods. And lastly, just to be sure she looked at the cross road, 50.3 Arkadia Avenue. Which was also correct. Okay, for sure today she had the right spot. But, she reminded herself quickly, she was supposed to paint the street on the opposite curb from this building.

Relieved that she was not going to reinvent the incident of yesterday and paint the entirely wrong street like she had done in front of a zoo instead of a police station she adjusted her suspenders over her work clothes, opened the door and got out of her work truck. She didn't know what the big deal was. The Police station got a sincere apology with the promise to reschedule with a different painter which, because their business was small, left only Lincoln. And the Zoo? The Zoo ended up with a free fire land in front of their sidewalks.

Clarke went to the back of the truck. The tailgate stuck frequently. So did the passenger door since it also had a dent in the side. It was a work of art, she defended people whom said it needed replacing. But she was starting to think that each time she had to struggle with the tailgate that she might just need a new truck. Might. But then she would change her mind and decide, maybe just a new tailgate? She saw a green one for cheap a last week that might fit even if her truck was white and gray. She reasoned, it just fit the truck's personality as the before claimed work of art.

But as it was she was here at her job site with a sticking tail-gate. So with a little effort and 'elbow grease' as her mother tended to call it whenever someone had to exert their muscles (which was ironically a term she hated) the latch on the tailgate gave and she dropped it open. She started pulling the four large letters of the street stencils she would need out of the truck and set them down near it one by one.

Okay, she thought as she pulled out the can of yellow paint and started shaking it, it wasn't exactly studio-worthy work. And if she was being realistic, it wasn't even art class work.

But it was work.

And it was paying for her college, her rent, and her art classes.

And out of those three things, the most important was her art classes, followed by her other college fees and then her rent. Food was fit in there somewhere but sometimes almost felt optional on nights she was eating Top Ramen for dinner.

The can of yellow paint though was almost ready to use from her shaking. When it nearly flew out of her hands from how hard she was shaking it she decided it was probably good enough before she shook it so hard that it actually did and actually flew through and broke most-likely-very-rich executive Woods front glass windows. Setting the can on the tailgate of her truck she climbed up into the bed to dig through her work tools, different brushes, and sprayers, looking under other large road stencils until she found the little screwdriver that she always said she should put in its own place but always just randomly tossed into the back.

The screwdriver then rattled around while she was driving, and the once silver tip and blade were dipped in different colors of dried paint and the red plastic handle was also splattered in nearly as many colors. But Clarke picked it up anyway. Jumped down from her truck, stuck the tip of the screwdriver under the lid of the paint can and started to pry it loose. Right as she popped the seal of the lid creating a gap she could finally see yellow paint through, a black – and very expensive looking car that she could not tell you the make of if she tried – pulled up at the side of the street just in front of where she was parked. Clarke watched idly, prying at the lid a little more, as a door opened on the car. The lid fell off the can the instant a girl got out. And Clarke?

Clarke was stunned by the girl's beauty instantly and froze to the spot by the grace the girl stepped away from the car with while juggling multiple briefcases of things.

Quit nearly numb from suddenly not being able to breathe, Clarke dropped the screwdriver into the can of paint. She wasn't able, suddenly, to pull her eyes away from the slender figure, or the attempted at a braid that was supposed to hold back shining brown curls but was failing miserably to do so as many strands were loose and all around the girl's face as she turned toward Clarke suddenly.

Their eyes met somewhere in the middle, in a deadlock.

And as the expensive car pulled away from the curb and drove off into the traffic of the city Clarke knew she was caught staring, but yet, she couldn't pull her eyes away. Whoever she was, she was gorgeous. Her eye color was difficult to be sure of from this far. She suspected though that they hinted at green. But she had a beautiful neck that Clarke suddenly wanted to kiss and a stunning jawline that she wanted to softly trace with her thumb-

Then, whoever she was, she smiled at her.

Clarke flushed instantly red. Shaken from her trance she dropped her gaze fast as she could to look like she was doing something else. She looked around quickly for her screwdriver before she remembered it had fallen with a bubbly sounding plop into the can of paint.

“Hello, Clarke.”

The beautiful girl was suddenly right beside her, pressed suit, tied hair, briefcases in hand. Clarke jumped and felt her heart start racing. In doing so she glanced over her shoulder and saw the answer to her earlier suspicion, she had green eyes.

Needing to distract herself Clarke plunged her hand deep into the can of yellow paint and pulled out the screwdriver from when, during her staring, she had mindlessly dropped it in. She tossed it into the truck bed and let it rattle and roll before she realized something suddenly that made her look right at Ms. Beautiful face, “how did you know my name?” the words left her mouth in shock.

But then she found she could not close her lips. At least, she could not close them all the way. And she could not stop herself from looking at the lips of the green eyed goddess standing so close to her. The Goddess who shrugged and said, “I am Lexa.”

“Lexa?” Clarke asked, trying not to sound stupid but managing to parrot the name back at the girl anyway. She cringed as she did. And bit her lower lip, “I'm working.” she could have slapped herself. Especially when she saw Lexa's lips turn up at the corners in a very small but very evident look of amusement. And she knew her heart was thumping far too loudly now, from that little smile, and she knew the sound was only magnified when she saw the same amusement in the green eyes studying hers, “I mean..” Clarke tried to recover, “I am working my job, yeah.” she motioned to the pavement near the far side of the street she was supposed to paint 'stop' or was it 'fire'? Anyway she was supposed to paint some word over there, “my name isn't I'm working..” oh God, Clarke, she thought to herself, just shut up.

She covered her face with her hand, almost slapped it over her eyes really. Just a second before she remembered she had yellow paint all over it. And now she had it all over her face as well. The sound of the self-induced wet slap still ringing in her ears.

Shit.

She scrunched up her eyes under her hand.

Dammit.

She knew, she knew her whole neck and face was suddenly bright red, well, under the yellow paint.. she could feel her face on fire with a fierce blush.

“Clarke?” Lexa's voice was suddenly soft and perhaps even a little bit amused?

“Mmm?” Clarke asked, without looking.

“Look at me?”

Clarke cracked open her fingers and peeked between them. Lexa was smiling at her softly, offering out, in her long fingers, an expensive looking white handkerchief with the initials 'L.W.” embroidered onto them. Clarke saw the initials. She saw the handkerchief. But of course, she scolded herself and tightened her eyes closed again, because of course, she had fixated on those sexy-as-hell fingers--

“Look at me?” Lexa asked gently again.

And Clarke did, again. And this time when she peeked through her hand Lexa had set her cases down. She also prompted, “uncover your face, Clarke.”

“Lexa, I--” she breathed, but her will seemed captured by Lexa. And her soul somehow did too. Slowly, almost timidly, Clarke removed her hand. She set it in her lap and turned down her painted face, “I am ..I'm a mess..” she admitted, and she meant more than just the paint.

Gentle fingers suddenly slid under her chin. They lifted her face so she was looking up into green eyes again. Eyes that looked into hers deeply, as though searching for her soul, as though Lexa knew something Clarke didn't. But then, Lexa gently began to wipe away the dreaded mustard yellow street paint. The motions were rhythmic and felt almost practiced as the paint was brushed back from her eyes and off her face and the brush of the cloth was strangely soothing to her racing heart. And then, without looking away from her, Lexa set the well-used handkerchief down on the tailgate. But her hand returned shortly and she used both of them to cup Clarke's face. Clarke closed her eyelids with an uncontrolled flutter when she felt Lexa's fingers start sliding back and forth, back and forth, softly over her skin. She thought she heard Lexa swallow right before she whispered, “I think I got most of it.”

Clarke felt Lexa step back. She felt her hands slide off her face. And her eyes snapped open instantly and she wanted to grab Lexa by the wrists and pull her hands back. But she didn't. Instead, she only looked at Lexa who was inattentively rubbing the tips of her own fingers together as though to remember a feeling, while absently staring at her.

Clarke took a breath. And for the first time since Lexa had gotten out of that black car, managed to pull herself together, “are you okay?” she asked. She could see the rapid beat of a pulse at the base of Lexa's neck where her suit had slipped a little and was not quite able to hide it. At last, as though she had followed the gaze of Clarke's eyes, Lexa tugged the collar into place and glanced at the Wood's Building, “I ..I have to go.” her tone, that until that moment, had sounded cheery and light, suddenly sounded sadly broken, “it was nice meeting you, Clarke.” she turned to leave.

“Wait!” Clarke called out, pushing away from her truck. She didn't know why. But she knew she had to stop her. And her cry worked. Lexa turned and looked at her, “Clarke?”

Clarke had to find a way to keep her there if only for another minute, “you..” she was reaching, she was searching. For what she didn't know but at last, she found an excuse when her eyes found Lexa's fingers again. They were splotched with yellow, “you're covered in paint.” Clarke protested. She glanced at the building too, “what is your boss going to say?” Grabbing up the well-used handkerchief Clarke went forward, grabbed a slender wrist and started trying to wipe almost dried road paint off of Lexa's hands.

Lexa glanced down at her fingers, watched Clarke's efforts for an amused minute and offered, “I think my boss won't mind.”

“But Woods is your boss, right?” Clarke kept trying at the paint, “I hear Woods is uptight. Something of a big-shot. Real pain in the ass.”

“Clarke,” Lexa gently pulled her hands away. And Clarke felt her heart pounding, hard, too hard. She had to think of something else to keep this girl right here, to keep Lexa right here. She didn't know what. So she threw out, “but you are covered in paint. All the people you have to work with? What will you say to them?”

Lexa looked down at her bright yellow hands, “I will say,” she offered, she looked up at Clarke again as though deciding something, “that I have found my Sunshine.”

Hearing those simple words made Clarke's heart go boom inside her. It made it melt away until there was only a sweet aching in her chest. It seemed she could barely breathe again. But Lexa only looked her over once more with a silent desperation that was peeking out from deep behind sudden shields of sadness hiding in her eyes.

Lexa turned to go.

And Clarke, dumb-founded and with an aching heart, could only stare at her. She felt as though part of her soul that she never knew she needed was suddenly being torn from her. Lexa had neared the building's door. Clarke reached out a paint covered hand, “Lexa?” she asked, only vaguely aware of how desperate she sounded over a stranger leaving her that she had only just met--

Lexa's hand was on the door when she let it go and turned once more, “we will meet again, Clarke. I promise that.” she said. Then she looked across to the curb on the other side of the street, “you should get to work.”

Clarke felt relief rush through her, suddenly and wonderfully. And she felt herself nodding and she felt herself smile, “okay.” she agreed, “we will meet again.” she said. Lexa gave her a small nod. And Clarke turned to look at the opposite side of the street she needed to paint. She looked back toward Lexa again.

But the doors were still swinging gently, where she had been. Lexa was already gone.

A little tiny sinking feeling settled into Clarke's chest. But it was replaced with a well of hope as Clarke glanced down at her fingers and at the yellow paint all over them. The well of hope grew even more when she looked down at the paint covered handkerchief still loose in her hands. Clarke looked at it closer. She could still make out the initials L and W.

_I will tell them I found my sunshine._ Lexa had said.

Clarke grinned wider. She tucked the handkerchief into her back pocket, adjusted the suspenders she wore holding up her work pants, grabbed up her sprayer, poured the paint into it, and sauntered over to the opposite site of the road.

_You are my sunshine, my only_ sunshine.

The silly little song drifted through her head cheery as the smile on her face as she laid her stencils down on the asphalt to spell out the word 'FIRE'. Using the sprayer she started filling the stencils in with yellow paint. The smell of aerosol and a fine mist filled the air as she worked. But it could not wipe away the grin on her face.

_You make me happy when skies are gray..._

She removed the stencils one at a time. The word 'fire' was spelled out in big bright yellow letters. Clarke grabbed up a stencil and used it to start fanning them dry. All the time, she kept looking across the street and the big building that said 'Woods' on it. Lexa was in there somewhere explaining to people about how she had found her Sunshine.

_You'll never know dear, how much I love you, please don't take, my sunshine, away..._

Nothing could.

Because Lexa had promised.

She would see her again.

In fact, as she dried the letters with a smile on her face, she was tempted to wait right here until she did.  Even if it took all day.

 


End file.
